


Bend Me, Shape Me (Any Way You Want Me)

by sysrae



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Getting Together, Lardo knows all, M/M, Mild Angst, Porn with Feelings, Rans and Nursey getting together, Ransom is bi, Topping from the Bottom, boys having feelings, chowder is a little shit, dex is straight, discussion of shitty's real name even though shitty isn't in this fic, holster is heteroflexible, hooking up at a kegster, how do I tag the thing, very mild one-sided pining of nursey for dex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysrae/pseuds/sysrae
Summary: “Your type,” Nursey repeats. His arm is a warm line against Ransom’s own, pressed close in the night air. “You said Holster doesn’t do it for you, so what are you after?”Ransom smiles, pulse quickening as he lifts a hand and gently grips Nursey’s chin, thumb smoothing across his plush lower lip. He leans in, his other hand on Nursey’s knee, and moves his mouth to Nursey’s ear. Low and rough, he murmurs, “Guys who know how to dance, what they want and when to move on it. That’s my type.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> *flings confetti* I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Ransom isn’t meant to be on Nursey Patrol, but in a moment of supreme self-confidence, he makes the mistake of wagering with Lardo on the outcome of their flip-cup game: if he wins, Lardo will paint a full portrait of anything he wants, and if she wins, he’ll take over her frogwatching duties for the rest of the night. To the surprise of absolutely no one except Ransom himself, he gets his ass handed to him. Lardo smirks, Holster yells “EPIC FAIL, RANS!” and Nursey, who’s been watching the whole thing from the sidelines, laughs.

“Sorry, bro,” he says, grinning ruefully. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh! Oh!” says Chowder, not quite tripping over as he grabs for something that’s fallen beside the table. “Ransom, you should use this! It’ll help keep him out of trouble.”

“What the hell–?” Rans starts, confused and a little alarmed when Chowder thrusts what looks like bondage gear into his hands, a tangle of black synthetic straps with buckles on one side and a leash on the other. It’s only when Dex starts wheezing with laughter that he realises it’s a child safety harness, one strap of which bears the legend, in white correction pen, PROPERTY OF DEREK M. NURSE.

“Oh, fuck you, C!” says Nursey, lunging to put Chowder in a headlock. Chowder cackles and darts away, and Nursey, who can’t change direction on dry land nearly as well as he can on ice, clips his hip hard against the flip-cup table and faceplants into the couch. Everyone starts laughing at that, even Nursey, who lifts his head and says, lips twitching, “I may be in need of assistance.”

“You see?” says Chowder, appealing to Rans. “He totally needs the help!”

“You frogs are kinky fuckers, you know that?” says Ransom, throwing the harness at an unrepentant Chowder. Sighing theatrically, he walks over to the couch and gives Nursey a hand up, hauling him bodily to his feet. Nursey stumbles, eliciting another burst of laughter from the peanut gallery.

“Whoah!” says Ransom, grabbing Nursey’s elbow just as Nursey grabs his arm. Heat flashes through him at the double contact, startling enough that Ransom lets go. “Don’t let Bitty know you were lying on that thing,” he says, surprised and proud of how normal he sounds. “He’ll Febreeze the shit out of you.”

Nursey wrinkles his nose. “Febreeze makes me sneeze.”

“Nice rhyming, Nurse!” chirps Dex. “You going to take that one to your poetry slam?”

“Nah,” says Nursey, deliberately giving Dex a lascivious once-over. “I already decided on a sonnet about your ass.”

Dex goes bright red; Ransom barks with laughter, as do the others, leaving Dex to glower in the absence of a good comeback. Nursey feigns innocence, batting his lashes. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he says, voice going smokey-coy in a way that absolutely _does not_ make Ransom’s dick sit up and take notice. “Baby, you know you’re beautiful.”

“Fuck you,” Dex snaps, and shit, he’s not chirping now. “You always do this, you fucking – you _know_ it makes me uncomfortable, and it’s not funny, okay?”

Nursey stills. “If you’ve got a problem with me being into guys –”

“I am _not_ homophobic!” Dex shouts. “I’m just fucking sick of being teased for how I look, Jesus!”

“But I wasn’t –” Nursey falters, blinking confusedly. “Dex, chill. I’m not mocking you.”

“Like fuck you’re not!” His mouth twists angrily. “Call me beautiful one more time, and I’ll fucking deck you.”

He storms off before Nursey or anyone else can answer, leaving a sullen silence in his wake.

“Well, _that’s_ a mood-killer,” Holster says, after a moment.

Chowder looks upset. “Do you think I should go after him? Maybe I should go after him.”

He’s all set to move, but Lardo shakes her head and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do it,” she says. And then, flicking a soft glance at Nursey, “Dude’s got some serious body-image issues, Nurse. I know you weren’t trying to mess him up, but Dex thinks he’s ugly, and he thinks you think the same.”

“What?” says Nursey, startled. “But I don’t – like I’m not, I wasn’t really hitting on him, I know he’s straight, but he’s still fucking gorgeous.” He looks imploringly at Ransom, green eyes wide. “I wasn’t being hipster ironic or whatever, I swear –”

“I know,” says Ransom, just as Lardo says, “I believe you.”

Nursey looks crestfallen. “But Dex doesn’t,” he says, staring at his shoes, and Ransom feels a sudden, complex pang at the thought that Nursey might be hung up on Dex for real. Shit, he knows what it’s like to pine so bad for a straight boy that you do and say all sorts of stupid stuff you never would otherwise, pushing too hard or chirping too much just to get a reaction from them.

Lardo sighs. “It’s not my place to tell you Dex’s shit,” she says – to all of them, not just Nursey. “But for the sake of making sure this doesn’t happen again by accident, I will say he’s had an ED before, so don’t fuck with him about food or how he looks.”

“Shit,” mutters Chowder, which just about sums it up; Rans is running a swift mental catalogue of everything he’s ever said to Dex that might’ve been potentially upsetting, and by the looks of it, he’s not the only one.

Lardo rolls her eyes. “Hockey boys,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You are all so useless at words, I _swear_.” And with that, she downs her drink and heads off in search of Dex, leaving the rest of them clustered around the flip-cup table.

It’s awkward for a moment, but it’s also a kegster, and as the sound of background music and happy shouting steadily reassert themselves, Holster and Chowder – both of whom are, in Rans’s opinion, physiologically incapable of staying sad for any length of time – start arguing over whether the child safety harness could be feasibly used as a lasso, and if so which lax bro to try it on. Ransom almost joins in, until he remembers that he’s on Nursey Patrol now, and notices that Nursey, in the split second when Ransom wasn’t paying attention, has fucked off on his own.

After a quick hunt through the Haus, Ransom finds him out on the front step, sipping a Natty light and staring into the distance.

“Hey,” says Ransom, dropping down beside him. “You okay?”

“I’m chill,” says Nursey. Ransom raises an eyebrow: even if no one else has cottoned on, he knows full well that _I’m chill_ is Nursey’s version of _I’m fine_ , which basically means the opposite of that. Nursey catches his expression and huffs, aware that he’s been caught out. “Or not. Whatever. I just –” he shrugs, accidentally knocking their shoulders together. “Dex fucks me up, you know? And I fuck him up right back. I don’t mean to do it, but whatever I say always comes out wrong with him.”

“You like him,” Rans says, softly.

Nursey’s head jerks up. “What?”

“You like him,” Rans says again. And then, at Nursey’s dumbfounded expression, “Derek Nurse, you are not the first brother ever to lust for an unattainable straight white dude. It happens. I’m not judging,” he adds quickly, not wanting Nursey to get the wrong idea, “I’ve just – I’ve been there, you know? And I know how much it sucks.”

“You –” says Nursey, eyes suddenly wide. “You’re gay?”

Ransom grins. “I’d say I’m about a Kinsey four, if you wanna get technical. A full-on B for Bisexual.”

“No, but I mean – I didn’t – I thought –”

“Shit,” says Ransom, genuinely startled. “You didn’t know I’m queer?”

“No.”

“Seriously? I don’t exactly keep it on the DL.”

Nursey’s mouth hangs open. It’s a very nice mouth. Ransom tries hard not to stare at it, and fails spectacularly.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, so – you and Holster, uh –”

Ransom laughs. “Nah, bro. Like, I’m not gonna lie and say we’ve never made out a little or done the odd threesome, but he’s more heteroflexible than actually into dudes, you know? Which is honestly kind of a relief; I mean, he’s objectively hot, but not really what I want in bed, and what we are works better because of it.”

Nursey considers this, his half-drunk beer lolling from one hand. Carefully, he says, “So, I’m guessing that means Holster isn’t your unattainable straight white dude, huh?”

“You guess right,” says Ransom. “That honour belongs to Cameron Dance. He was my lab partner in senior year of high school, and oh, man, I pined for him like you would not _believe_.” He chuckles, chest warming at Nursey’s answering smile. “Like, I don’t usually do the whole blue-eyed blonde thing, but he was tan as hell with this sunstreaked hair – wavy, you know, like a fucking shampoo commercial – and his eyes were _dark_ blue, this unreal denim colour. Jawline like an Abercrombie model. I did the dumbest shit to try and impress him, like, just made an absolute ass of myself. He knew I was bi, and I knew he was straight, but I wanted him so bad that I couldn’t stop thinking, you know, maybe he’s closeted, maybe I can be cool enough that he’d wanna experiment, maybe –”

“– maybe,” says Nursey, soft and wry, “I can piss him off enough that he’ll find a creative way to shut me up.”

Ransom makes a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, that too.”

“It’s not –” Nursey starts, struggling for words. “It’s not that I’m, like, in love with him or whatever? I mean, there was a solid fortnight there where I thought I was, and it fucking _hurt_ , but it’s just – Jesus, I don’t know how to say this –”

“Take your time, Nurse. I’m not grading you.”

Nursey flashes him a grateful look and exhales slowly, shoulders settling as he thinks it through. At last, he says, softly, “I don’t know how to be friends with him, and it makes me feel like maybe I don’t know how to be friends with anyone.” He gulps, laughing shakily. “At Andover, I always had to perform, you know? Always had to be chill, always had to make everyone like me, or at least not outright hate me, and pretend it didn’t matter if they did. And it’s not… at Samwell, I’m not being fake, you know I’ll call shit out if it’s pissing me off, but Dex takes it as a personal fucking affront if I ever do anything other than say exactly what I mean and exactly what I feel, like being tactful is some sort of crime, and it gets under my skin, you know? Because nobody’s gonna call him a terrorist if he throws a hissy fit in the dining hall or doesn’t smile enough at somebody’s mom, and _I_ know why I’m doing it, I know he’s being a privileged ass, but there’s still this goddamn part of me that can’t get over the fact that he notices I’m self-censoring at all, because nobody else ever does. He sees exactly what I’m doing, but he doesn’t understand _why_ , and I can’t – I always had this idea that if anyone ever saw through my crap, knew what I was really feeling, then it had to mean something significant, that it’d be a sign to date them or whatever, but every time I try to get him to understand, we end up arguing. And it’s like, if he doesn’t actually want to _know_ me, then why the fuck does he keep _noticing_ me?”

“See, that’s your problem right there,” says Ransom, bumping their shoulders together. “Or two problems, really. One, you’ve got it into your head that only someone who wants to bone down would bother to notice any of your shit, because you can’t see why a dude like Dex would care about you otherwise, and two –” he takes a breath, meeting Nursey’s gaze, “– you think he’s the only one who’s been paying attention.”

Nursey stares at him. “You –?”

“Yeah, me.” And then, at Nursey’s expression of disbelief, “You’re fucking hot, Nurse, don’t act like this is breaking news, and out of everyone on the team, you really think I’m gonna fail to notice when you’re pulling out your Be Polite For White People manners? Like, I know from Shitty that Andover is all kinds of messed up, and it’s not like I ever went to that sort of school, but even so, it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

Nursey runs a hand through his hair, loose black-brown curls that are half Colin Kaepernick, half Bruno Mars. It’s an unfairly good look on him, as is the sheepish, shy smile he flashes at Ransom. “Sorry,” he says. “I should’ve… that’s what I mean, when I say that Dex makes me feel like I don’t know how to be friends with people, you know? Like part of me’s still stuck in Andover mode, even when I’m trying not to be.”

Ransom has a sudden, powerful urge to hold Nursey’s hand. It’s sappy as fuck, but Ransom is an unapologetically sappy guy when he wants to be, so he does it, reaching over and slowly twining their fingers together. Nursey inhales sharply, but doesn’t pull away.

Resting their joined hands carefully on his knee, Ransom asks, “What was Shitty like at Andover?”

Nursey laughs. “Not called Shitty, for one thing.”

Delighted, Ransom says, “You mean you know his real first name?”

“You mean you _don’t?_ ”

“None of us do,” says Ransom. “I mean, I think maybe Lardo does, because she’s fucking omnipotent, but yeah, I don’t, Holster doesn’t, Jack doesn’t. It’s a goddamn mystery.”

“I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long without asking me,” says Nursey. “You really wanna know?”

“That depends,” says Ransom, smoothing a thumb across the back of Nursey’s hand. “How terrible is it, really?”

Nursey snorts with laughter. “It’s pretty bad. We’re talking multiple meta-levels of cringe, here. Even at Andover, he got people to call him Knight.”

“Dish, Nurse. I gotta know!”

“Okay, okay.” Nursey grins, sharp and beautiful. “It’s Hilary.”

Ransom stares at him. “No way. No _fucking_ way.”

“I shit you not. Hilary, as in Edmund, as in the whitest possible British white guy name that’s ever existed –”

“– _Hilary Knight_ ,” says Ransom, disbelieving. “You’re telling me Shitty’s actual name is _Hilary fucking Knight_ , as in the _same_ name as the Boston Pride forward? As Olympic women’s ice hockey medallist Hilary Knight – _that’s_ his name?”

“The one and the same,” says Nursey, impishly. “No wonder he got into gender studies, huh?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” says Ransom. “I need to lie down. Where’s Bitty? I need Bitty to teach me how to have a proper Southern conniption. A regular-ass conniption will not do for reacting to news of this magnitude.” He untangles their hands and grabs for Nursey’s beer, half lunging across his lap as Nursey, laughing, holds it out of reach. “Gimme the Natty, Nurse. I am _in need_.” He snags the can and sits back, chugging theatrically, aware all the while that Nursey’s eyes are glued to the movement of his throat.

When the can is empty, Ransom sets it aside and looks at Nursey again. He’s nowhere near drunk enough to pass his staring off as anything other than blatant, but he can’t quite make himself stop, either. Nursey’s eyes go dark, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“So what is your type, then?”

“Huh?” says Ransom, too distracted by Nursey’s mouth to parse what’s coming out of it.

“Your type,” Nursey repeats. His arm is a warm line against Ransom’s own, pressed close in the night air. “You said Holster doesn’t do it for you, so what are you after?”

Ransom smiles, pulse quickening as he lifts a hand and gently grips Nursey’s chin, thumb smoothing across his plush lower lip. He leans in, his other hand on Nursey’s knee, and moves his mouth to Nursey’s ear. Low and rough, he murmurs, “Guys who know how to dance, what they want and when to move on it. _That’s_ my type.”

Nursey shivers, pressing into the touch. Ransom pulls back, fingertips dragging deliberately against Nursey’s stubble, and stands up, tipping his head to indicate the throbbing beat of music coming from the kegster.

“You know where I’ll be,” he says, and saunters into the Haus, heart pounding. A part of him is terrified – he didn’t plan for this, doesn’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow if Nursey follows him now – but the rest of him is exhilarated, breath coming faster as he finds the impromptu dance floor and joins in.

He’s alone just long enough for the current song to end and a new one to start, which he recognises after a moment as S&M by Rihanna. He thinks of the child safety harness again and laughs, fitting his body to the beat, and a few moments later, a warm chest presses against his back. Nursey slots their bodies together, mischief in his voice as he nips at Ransom’s ear.

“Found you,” he says, and slides his hands to Ransom’s stomach, pressing against his abs. Ransom turns his head just enough to put them eye to eye: they’re both 6’2 and broad in the shoulders, and Ransom’s pulse spikes to imagine how well-matched they might be in other areas.

“Yeah,” he says, “you did.” He curls a hand around Nursey’s neck, holding him close. The song is loud and fast and hot, and Nursey doesn’t shy away for a second; the two of them start up a dirty grind, and Rans is vaguely aware that other people are looking, that somewhere nearby Holster is yelling “GET IT!” at the pair of them, but none of it matters more than the feel of Nursey pressed up against him, hands on Ransom’s hips.

The song shifts again, and Rans shifts with it, turning in Nursey’s arms and grabbing a double handful of his ass, which – _damn_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nursey breathes, arms twining around Ransom’s neck. They’re both hard, rutting up against each other, and Ransom doesn’t know what this is going to mean tomorrow, but he sure as hell knows what he wants it to be right now. He brushes their noses together, but it’s Nursey who kisses him first, leaning in to suck on Ransom’s bottom lip. Ransom groans and slides a hand into Nursey’s hair, tugging him back just far enough to make his whole mouth accessible.

They keep dancing for long enough that it’s really not dancing anymore, assuming it was ever anything other than public foreplay. Ransom is more turned on than he’s been in he doesn’t know how long, breathing hard and fast as he sucks at the hinge of Nursey’s jaw.

“If you take me up to the attic,” Nursey murmurs, one hand slid under Ransom’s shirt, “is there gonna be room enough to fuck in those stupid bunk beds?”

“Always has been before,” Rans gasps, and oh, that is _it_ , they’re doing this. Without even the barest attempt at subtlety, Ransom grabs Nursey around the waist and tugs him off the dance floor, over to the stairs and up to the attic. They’re practically running by the end, the rest of the kegster a swiftly bypassed blur. When they get to the bedroom, Ransom doesn’t so much shut the door as shove Nursey hard up against it, kissing him as the latch clicks home.

“Rans,” Nursey pants, one hand on Ransom’s neck and the other on his hip. “Rans, fuck, wait –”

Ransom comes to a dead halt, pulling back from where he’s practically plastered up against Nursey. For an awful moment, he thinks he’s crossed a boundary and opens his mouth to apologise, but Nursey, wide-eyed with a kiss-flushed mouth, gets in ahead of him.

“You’re not a rebound,” Nursey blurts, tightening his grip on Ransom. “You’re not a substitute, you’re not – I just need you to know, I’m not up here with you because of anything to do with Dex or anyone else. I’m here for _you,_ period, because I want to be. Because I want you. And I thought,” he adds, gulping as he flushes, “I thought you deserved to know that.”

“Fuck,” breathes Rans, a thread of laughter running through the word. He cups Nursey’s cheek and feels like he gives himself away with how gentle it is, how easily he drops a kiss at the corner of Nursey’s mouth. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

“Do you?” Nursey teases, smiling as their lips brush.

“You know I don’t,” says Ransom, kissing along his jaw.

They sway back into each other, and though the urgency hasn’t lessened, it’s intimate now in a way it wasn’t before – not when they were dancing, at least. Outside was different. _This_ is different, their breathing loud as they tug their shirts off, Ransom huffing laughter as Nursey, true to form, gets his head and arms caught and nearly falls over trying to free himself.

“Nursey Patrol to the rescue!” Ransom says, and extricates him with a flourish, tossing the culprit shirt aside like a scarf at the end of a magic trick.

“I’d say fuck you,” says Nursey, smoothing his palms over Ransom’s pecs, “but I’d really rather you fuck me.”

Ransom’s lungs experience a brief but poignant malfunction. “I can do that.”

Chuckling, Nursey surveys the bunk beds over Rans’s shoulder, frowning at their configuration. He looks around the rest of the room in search of Rans doesn’t know what, until Nursey’s eyes light up as he points at Holster’s desk chair.

“Sit,” says Nursey, walking Ransom backwards.

Ransom blinks, confused. “I – what?”

Nursey smirks at him, giving him a final push as the backs of his knees hit the chair, which stays in place as Rans sits down, because Hoslter’s chair, unlike Ransom’s, doesn’t have wheels. “You’re going to sit there,” Nursey says, swinging himself into Ransom’s lap, “and I’m going to sit _here_.”

Which he does, grinding down and twining his arms around Ransom’s neck until, after less than a minute of this, the chair gives an ominous creak, the enthusiastic weight of two grown hockey players more than it can handle. They break apart, foreheads pressed together as they stifle laughter.

“This chair,” says Rans, with as much dignity as he can muster, “is clearly unworthy of our magnificence.”

“Clearly,” Nursey says, grinning. They stand up again, and it ought to be awkward, the way they keep stopping and starting, but Ransom just feels happy and light and stupidly turned on. He reels Nursey in for another kiss, astonished by his own lack of anxiety. Ransom likes to get things right, and with one night stands, there’s always that residual, lurking sense of sitting a test that he can’t take again if he flunks, or where – worse still – he might never find out his grade at all. He always ends up showboating because of it, trying so hard to perform that it ends up winding him tighter than when he started; the few times he’s threesome’d with Holster, it’s been a little easier – it takes the pressure off, somehow, knowing he’s not solely responsible for giving the girl a good time – but as Nursey smiles into the kiss and tugs at Ransom’s fly, he tries and fails to think of another hookup that’s felt so comfortable.

Eager heat coils low in his gut. He grabs Nursey's hips and deepens the kiss; Nursey makes a startled noise that’s half a moan and melts against him, undressing temporarily forgotten. It’s only when Ransom makes a move on Nursey’s belt that he seems to remember what he was doing, and suddenly they’re stripping again, shoes kicked off as they step out of shorts and boxers both. Naked, Rans moves back just far enough to drink in the sight of Nursey, running a thumb admiringly over the cut of his hip. Like Ransom, he’s uncut; unlike Ransom, he actually bothers with manscaping, his curls cropped trim and close.

“Fuck,” Nursey murmurs, pupils dark as he looks Rans over in turn.

Ransom swallows hard. “You still want to –”

“Yeah. Yeah, do you have –?”

“In the drawer, hang on, let me just –”

Ransom moves to the dresser, giving Nursey a look at his ass as he pulls out lube and condoms and tosses them onto the bottom bunk. Nursey watches their trajectory with amused interest.

“You know, I’d never actually considered the logistics before, but I’m guessing you do a lot of fucking in Holster’s bed.”

“We have a gentleman’s arrangement,” Ransom says, mock-loftily. “If I fuck on his bunk, I wash his sheets.”

“ _Bunk beds_ ,” Nursey mutters, suspiciously fond. “What are you two, twelve?”

“Rude,” says Ransom, tugging Nursey after him as he sits on the edge of the mattress. “Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.”

“I _am_ trying it,” Nursey says, and tilts his head in consideration, a slow smile on his face. “Scooch up, would you? But just a little bit, not all the way to the wall.”

Ransom complies, leaning back with his weight on his palms. Nursey grins and steps in closer, gripping the top bunk for leverage as he puts himself back onto Ransom’s lap. Their cocks line up, and Nursey rocks experimentally against him, mouth hanging open. The position is a thrilling tease: with Nursey holding onto the top bunk and Ransom braced on his hands, they can’t hold one another, but _oh_ , they can still feel.

“Yeah,” breathes Nursey. He tests his weight, biceps flexing. “Shit, this could really work.”

“No pressure,” Ransom says – lightly, but he holds Nursey’s gaze, compelled to make the point.

Nursey’s smile softens. “I know,” he says, and lets his right hand drop from the bunk, wiggling his fingers at Ransom. “Lube, please?”

Heart beating hard in his throat, Ransom uses his core strength to stay upright as he grabs the lube and drizzles a generous amount onto Nursey’s fingers. A slow burn starts in his abs, but Ransom doesn’t hurry, breathing slow and overloud as he grabs a condom and rolls it on. It’s not exactly a difficult task, but the sight of Nursey rolling his hips as he reaches back to prep himself isn’t doing wonders for his hand-eye coordination, and it takes him longer than usual.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?” Ransom murmurs, leaning back on his hands again. He rakes his gaze over Nursey, licking his lips at the sight. The music from downstairs is still audible, a throbbing bass pulse that sinks its hooks into Ransom’s blood. Above him, Nursey groans, riding the fingers of one hand while the other keeps him upright, the top bunk low enough that he has to arch his back to keep in place.

“Shut up,” Nursey pants, eyes fluttering as he moves. “You start – _ungh_ – you start sweet-talking me now, this isn’t gonna last long.”

“Don’t care,” says Ransom. Shifting his weight to his left hand, he lifts the right and reaches forward, trailing his fingertips down the perfect, straining musculature of Nursey’s chest. He’s achingly hard, and the thought of Nursey riding him like this is intoxicating. “Jesus Christ, Nursey –”

“Hang on,” says Nursey. He pulls his fingers free with a gasp, stroking the excess lube along Ransom’s cock as he lines himself up. Ransom shudders, bracing back on both hands again, and moans as Nursey sinks down onto him at a frankly sinful angle, hot and tight and slick. Ransom tips his head back, momentarily overwhelmed, and for a moment they both still, adjusting to the fit.

Then Nursey grips the bunk again and expertly, torturously, uses that double-handed leverage to fuck himself on Ransom’s cock. All Ransom can do is brace and take it: with his feet off the ground, he’s got no means of lifting his hips. Nursey groans above him, sweating as he rides Ransom into the mattress, his own dick steadily dripping precum.

“Fucking Christ, Nursey, look at you,” Rans gasps. “Fuck, I wanna touch you so bad –”

“Want you to touch me,” Nursey pants, dishevelled and gorgeous. He makes an inarticulate noise that trails sharply into a whimper, grinding down onto Ransom as he moves his hips in a slow, deliberate orbit. Summoning his core strength, Ransom grips the sheets and fucks upwards, once and hard; Nursey makes a punched-out sound and rides him faster, babbling in what Ransom vaguely recognises as Arabic.

“Nursey, sweetheart, you gotta – oh, fuck – I don’t – I need it in English, baby, I need to know what you want –”

“ _Afwan_ , I didn’t –” Nursey stares at him, wild-eyed and desperate, “Rans, please, I need – oh god – I need you to hold me, I can’t – it’s too much –”

Later, Ransom will think back and marvel at how smoothly they manage it, how easy it would’ve been for him to slip or Nursey to fall. In the moment, he doesn’t think at all: just leans up, grabs Nursey’s hips on an upstroke, slips neatly out of him and pulls Nursey down to his back on the mattress, rolling on top of him. Nursey whines with relief, hooks a leg around Ransom’s waist and uses that purchase to arch his back, his other thigh splayed in invitation. Ransom, who can take a hint, smooths a palm up the underside of Nursey’s knee and pushes, folding him up as he guides himself in again.

“Like this?” he rasps.

“Yeah, yeah, just like that, _fuck_ –”

Nursey grabs the back of his neck and hauls him in for a shallow kiss, panting desperately against his mouth. Ransom sucks on Nursey’s lip and sneaks a hand between them, wrapping it around Nursey’s cock. Nursey bucks wildly, fucking into Ransom’s touch as Rans fucks into him, and comes so hard within six strokes that he gives himself a pearl necklace. He tightens up, gasping and grabbing at Ransom, whose orgasm punches out of him in a sudden, starbursting rush. He keeps moving only on autopilot, hips working through the aftershocks as he leans in and sucks at Nursey’s throat, sweat and salt in his mouth as he licks him clean. Nursey fucking _whimpers_ , head falling back against the pillow as Ransom finally pulls out of him. His fingers shake as he knots the condom, tossing it blindly across the room with a vague mental apology to his future self, who’ll have to hunt for it, and collapses alongside Nursey, snaking an arm across his stomach and dropping a kiss on his shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” says Nursey, faintly.

Ransom chuckles, pressing his face to Nursey’s bicep. “Very holy. The holiest fuck.”

“We’re,” says Nursey, and stops. Inhales deeply, tilting his head to look at Ransom. And then, more softly, with just the barest hint of hesitation, “We’re doing that again, right?”

Ransom’s smile is syrup-slow. He wants to pass out, but he makes himself lift a hand to Nursey’s jaw, drawing him in for a sweet, chaste kiss. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’re doing that again.”

“But like, dating again or fuckbuddies again?”

Ransom snugs himself closer, resting his head on Nursey’s chest, a leg thrown over his thigh. Nursey shifts to hold him, finger curling gently at the nape of his neck.

“Dating again,” says Ransom. “If you want to.”

“Yeah,” says Nursey. “I want to.” He presses a kiss to Ransom’s forehead, lips curved into a smile.

Ransom doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he’s pretty sure Nursey just fucked the awake right out of him. Next thing he knows, he’s jerking into consciousness as the attic door bangs open, Nursey startling under him as Holster stops dead in the doorway.

“Oh my GOD!” he yells. “You could’ve at least got under the blanket, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t need to see Nursey’s junk!”

“So don’t look at my junk,” yawns Nursey, snuggling back against Ransom.

“Yeah, Holster,” says Ransom, favouring his friend with a shit-eating grin. “Don’t look at my boyfriend’s junk.”

Holster tries to look outraged, but his lips twitch all the same. He throws up his hands and pulls the door shut, yelling as it closes, “I wash my hands of the pair of you, and YOU’D BETTER WASH MY SHEETS!” And then, from further away, the words clearly bellowed into the party, “ _ATTENTION WELLIES! THE SIN BIN DEMANDS A SACRIFICE!_ ”

“Worth it,” Ransom says, smiling, and falls asleep again.      

**Author's Note:**

> Why Am I Like This: a novel by me


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